


i fell hard in your arms tonight

by b_o_i



Category: Fruits Basket
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, One-Sided Attraction, Sexual Fantasy, Trans Yuki, a teen boy being a teen boy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2020-03-02 11:32:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18810040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/b_o_i/pseuds/b_o_i
Summary: So it’s late and Haru is pent up, and it’s the off-again part of his relationship right now, and he borrowed Yuki’s jacket after school today because it was cold and Haru lost his. The smell of his shampoo lingers, and Haru’s mind wanders.





	i fell hard in your arms tonight

**Author's Note:**

> in honor of the reboot.......have smth that i never rly thought i would write lol. also yuki's trans

It happens mostly on accident. Mostly, because it’s not like he actively makes a habit of it — it’s just that, since he first started learning what a sex drive even was, a lot of his Right Hand Daydreams have featured quite a bit of Yuki. He was his first love, after all, and he’s not afraid to admit it. So when he started vaguely wanting to kiss someone, of course Yuki was his brain’s go-to kissable candidate.

It just stuck. Why change what works? So it’s late and Haru is pent up, and it’s the off-again part of his relationship right now, and he borrowed Yuki’s jacket after school today because it was cold and Haru lost his. The smell of his shampoo lingers, and Haru’s mind wanders. 

If he closes his eyes it’s like he could be here. When he was fourteen, he had his first wet dream — Yuki, climbing into his bed at night and sitting on his lap and kissing him. He was in one of his fancy kimonos, and the fabric had slid up his thighs and he was pale and soft all over. 

He imagines kissing Yuki now, imagines holding his waist or running his hands through his hair. Or maybe they’d be cuddled up on the bed to begin with, Yuki’s back against his chest as they sprawled out. Maybe Yuki would be reading or something, all warm and solid against him. Maybe Haru would still be playing with his hair, tracing his neck and shoulder and collarbones. 

Maybe he would brush the weak spot Yuki has behind his ear — because he does have a weak spot there, had shivered in his sleep when Haru accidentally found it, back when he would keep Yuki company when he got sick. Maybe he would make him shiver and gasp, sensitive in the way they probably all are, usually unable to be intimate with very many people. 

He’d lead up to it, tease it in a way he doesn’t know if he’d actually be able to take it slow in real life. But in his mind he’s smooth and suave and makes Yuki wait for it — builds it up. He’d start it off slow, and get more and more bold, and Yuki would be either too embarrassed or too proud to ask him to hurry up, so he would sit there and let him do it, let him get further and further down, slide his hands up his thighs and finally dipping down past the waistband of his pants. 

And Yuki would be wet — he’d be so, so wet, and in Haru’s most explicit daydreams, the one where his more aggressive side would bleed through, Haru would coat his fingers in it and suck the taste off of them. Haru would keep Yuki’s back solid against his chest and hook Yuki’s ankles over his shins, keep him spread out and open instead of locked up, instead of curled up so tight, and he isn’t sure if he likes the idea of his pants — maybe a skirt, on his kinkier days — staying on or coming off. Sliding his hand into the front of Yuki’s pajama bottoms, or shit, maybe his kimono, and keeping it a secret, pressed all up against him. Or sliding the pants off and leaving him out in the open, even more sensitive in the cooler air.

Either way, he would be so, so fucking wet. Wet like he’d never been before — and Haru is sure he’s never done this before, not with walls as high as his, with a curse and deep as theirs. And Haru would coat his fingers in it and spread him open careful. Rub his clit and bury his nose in Yuki’s neck, breathing in the way he would squirm and moan and fucking quiver. Yuki is so strong, so so strong, stronger than Haru will ever be, and Haru longs to take him apart despite that. Find his way deep inside him and make him feel good, better than he’s ever felt before. 

Yuki doesn’t like his chest touched, or drawn attention to. He’s had the surgery, but he doesn’t like the scars. Doesn’t like people looking at them, or touching them, or reminding him that they exist. So Haru wouldn’t do any of that, no matter how much he wants to see whether or not Yuki is sensitive there like some people are. He would fit his hand into the dip of his boney hip, his lips against his neck and his fingers on his clit, dipping down into his honey with an experience he doesn’t have — but in his head, he does it just right. Yuki would gasp into the air, clutching at the sheets, at Haru’s arms, and he would say “Haru,” all drawn out and shaking, like he couldn’t decide how he feels about it. Haru would twist his hand, crook his fingers, and Yuki would decide it feels good, gasping out “Oh, Haru, Haru, oh _god_ ,” and Haru would wonder if maybe Yuki was having an asthma attack if it wasn’t all in his head. 

Yuki’s thighs would shake, and he would hold himself tight, wrapped up in Haru completely, until Haru would finally, finally tip him over the edge, body tensing up tight tight tight, voice shaking and rising and sobbing before falling bonelessly against him. And Haru would ease his fingers out and hold him gentle, saying soft things while Yuki pulled himself tighter. Keeping him safe, especially after all of that. 

That’s all Haru wants to do — keep Yuki safe. Make him feel good and protected. Maybe those words are too pretty and noble to go with the way his fingers feel curled around his own dick, thinking about how warm Yuki would be inside. He doesn’t know if he would dare to actually — he’s a teenage boy who’s never gotten his dick wet, and the thought of getting his doing it with  _Yuki_ is almost too much for him to handle. He tightens his fingers around the base of his dick to keep from blowing it too soon. 

He’d get Yuki off, he thinks, and then he’d lick his fingers clean and laugh when Yuki called him gross. He’d flush, the way he does when Haru says something too forward, but he’d be too worn out for it to have any bite. Maybe Haru would press his messy fingers to Yuki’s mouth instead, let him taste himself. He wonders if his mouth would be just as warm - maybe warmer, if he would lick at his fingers the same way he might lick at his — 

Haru shivers at the thought. Yuki’s pretty mouth, and his pretty eyes and his pretty hair. His hair is soft, would be soft in his hands. He wonders if his lips would be soft, too. 

For some bizarre reason, that’s what finally tips him over the edge: Yuki’s soft lips against his fingers or his mouth or his —

“Shit,” he gasps, pressing a hand against his mouth as he cums. He spills into his hand, trying not to get it all over his sheets again. 

The come down is slow — he’s tired, feels strung out and sleepy now that he’s satisfied. He feels a little guilty, the way that he’s usually does after jacking off to the idea of one of his favorite people, whether it’s Rin or Yuki, but also a little like he doesn’t care. It’s not like it’s hurting anybody. 

If he focuses extra hard on Yuki’s lips against his chopsticks at lunch the next day, that's his own business. And Yuki doesn’t seem to notice, so. No harm done.


End file.
